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I will not miss you

Altar of Worship

I will not miss you

I will not miss you when winter darkens the sky and snowflakes kiss my skin. When the fire burns bright in the hearth and the candles flicker their yearning ghosts upon the wall.

I will not miss you when spring breaks the soil with green, and silently buds the shivering trees. When pale hearts are made bold by the rising sap and cupid’s sweet festival.

I will not miss you when summer spreads itself before me in wild and glorious heat. When my skin feels the sun caressing it like a lover, like an angel, like a pretty girl.

I will not miss you when autumn reminds me of solemn promise stolen by sad circumstance. When the rain trickles down my cheeks and beneath my collar and hides my stupid tears.

I will not miss you

I will not miss you

I will not miss you

.

,

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

I wrote this ages ago and had forgotten it, but it turned up this morning when I was looking for something else. On a grey and miserable day I thought it deserved a fresh airing.

Art by Jack Vettriano

 
10 Comments

Posted by on June 18, 2020 in Lovers Past, Poetry, Still Life

 

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Not miss you

Vettriano - Alter of Memory

I will not miss you

I will not miss you when winter darkens the sky and snowflakes kiss my skin. When the fire burns bright in the hearth and the candles flicker their yearning ghosts upon the wall.

I will not miss you when spring breaks the soil with green, and silently buds the shivering trees. When pale hearts are made bold by the rising sap and cupid’s sweet festival.

I will not miss you when summer spreads itself before me in wild and glorious heat. When my skin feels the sun caressing it like a lover, like an angel, like a pretty girl.

I will not miss you when autumn reminds me of solemn promise stolen by sad circumstance. When the rain trickles down my cheeks and beneath my collar and hides my stupid tears.

I will not miss you

I will not miss you

I will not miss you

.

,

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Art by Jack Vettriano

This is a year old, so new readers may have missed it first time around.

 
16 Comments

Posted by on December 7, 2015 in Lovers Past, Still Life

 

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Shut

Art by Anne Magill

I am a sensitive soul.

Perhaps too much for a man.

I sigh at beauty. I am enchanted by charm. I can get lost in a look.

I cry at sad movies, often glad of the dark.

I am a romantic, Sad songs in my ear buds. Black and white films in the winter. Meetings in steamy-window bookshop cafes. Walks by the swan-gliding river. Dinner in the flickering light of whispering candles.

A message on my phone that ends in a kiss.

I am a dreamer. A poet. Someone who will never forget the press of her lips.

And sometimes, only sometimes,  I am a fool.

Yet for all that, if I am hurt, I can become as hard and as cold as a Siberian frost.

And the doors to my heart

Slam

Shut.

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Art by Anne Magill

I wrote this a year ago. I am sure there were reasons at the time. I have not changed. It is simply the way I am.

 
25 Comments

Posted by on November 15, 2015 in Still Life

 

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Salt and sorrow

Art by Thomas Saliot

A silver tear

is captured

in her long

dark lashes.

A sad and beautiful

liquid jewel.

 

I kiss it away

and it leaves

a lingering taste

of salt and sorrow

on my lips

which I will always

regret.

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Art by Thomas Saliot

 
29 Comments

Posted by on October 19, 2015 in Lovers Past, Poetry

 

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Done

dreams by Michael & Inessa Garmash

 

We all do it.

We cling on to something for far too long.

We remember everything. Every touch, every smile, every kiss.

Every wild moment when nothing, absolutely nothing, truly nothing else in the world, mattered

We re-read everything. Every word, every sentence, every nuance, every space, every between-the-lines.

We recall conversations. Where we were. How they started. What was said. What was meant. What changed. What mattered.

We follow them after they have gone. Reading their posts, their tweets, their status. Studying their friends, their followers, their new contacts.

Almost, but not quite, yet still almost, stalking them.

We think of them, imagine them, want them, believe in them.

We expect them to return.

They never do.

I have carried this torch for what seems like forever.

No more.

I am done

The fire is out.

.

.

 the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Art by Michael & Inessa Garmash

Another repost from a year ago.. But it touches chords.

 
34 Comments

Posted by on September 14, 2015 in Lovers Past, Still Life

 

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Not this time

each-other Loui Jover

All the sharp edges must be blunted.

Allow no memory that will cut you deep.

It is the first rule of failed relationship survival.

Do not let anything that can wound you come close. Delete every photograph, every video, every message, every mocking page of social media. All of those things that cause you to remember. Shut them down, block them out. Excommunicate, banish, excoriate, evict, scrub, cleanse, discard. Never dwell on what was done, what was said, the happiness, the joy, the hopes. Do not allow those sacred, lost moments to run like a loop in your mind.  Do not visit the places you once shared.

Do not remember her scent, her touch, her skin, her laughter. Most of all, do not recall how she loved you once. 

Blot her out.

Erase her.

There is no value in suffering. No point in allowing the hurt to mark you, damage you, blacken your days.

There is nothing to be gained from dwelling on the times when you were happy. Nor for blaming yourself for when they were not. You cannot bring back the past. And even if by some strange magic you could, it would never be the same. Time, events and distance change everything from the moment her fingers and lips leave you for the last time. She is not yours anymore. If indeed she ever was.

I have repeated all this to myself over and over again like a mantra. I know it all by heart. I know what to do and how to do it.

I know it better than anyone.

But I just can’t do it.

Not this time.

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Art by Loui Jover

 
24 Comments

Posted by on August 9, 2015 in Still Life

 

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Dress

 

Dress

 

One more glass and I will submit

to the memory of her dress.

Silk less smooth as the skin within,

and I’ve seen her wearing less.

 

But you never knew me quite this way

with my eyes so full of clouds.

Some black poison has ruined me

and the gown is now a shroud.

 

One more glass and I will resort

to softly whispering her name.

Writing words on my exposed pale wrists

in an attempt to hide the stain.

 

But you never knew me quite this way

With my body so stale and old.

I’ve tortured the flame of this candle

And its grey smoke kiss has left me cold.

 

One more glass and I will forget

the sweet memory of her dress.

She wore it for me one afternoon

when she still wanted to impress.

 

Copyright 2008 The author writing as Romantic Dominant

Art by Jack Vettriano

 I wrote this one night in an almost deserted restaurant in some miserable Frankfurt suburb almost seven years ago.  I was feeling sorry for myself with a cold and had not gone out with my business colleagues.  Instead I ate by myself, drank red wine in excess, wallowed in manly self-pity, and scrawled this poem on the back page of a dull report.

It is about a submissive lover called Nikki who had hair as black as a raven’s and dark brown eyes that I can still see if I close mine.  We had parted some months before.
The biggest challenge was trying to work out what I’d written the next day. 

The recording is a little old, but I hope you enjoy anyway

 
18 Comments

Posted by on June 4, 2015 in D/s, Lovers Past, Poetry

 

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Hanging on

Man of Steel

I am watching the afternoon dissolve.

The light is fading. The trees and shrubs, the borders and paths, the fences and lawns are merging softly into one another. The last, muted. copper rays of the sun are reflected back briefly and wistfully in the leaded windows of the old summer-house.

I am in my quiet study. The ancient central heating pipes are complaining moodily beneath dark oak floorboards. The melancholy music recently playing has stopped. The absence of piano, violin and guitar has left an almost holy stillness.

Like a church hushed for prayer.

Despite myself, despite my promises to me, I am thinking of you. I have let your presence slide gently into the gathering gloom. I hear the faintest echo of your laughter. I catch your scent lingering like a sigh.

Both, of course, are impossible.

I feel a need to write something for you. A poem to send. Words to make you remember. And perhaps to regret.

But I know I won’t.

I will simply sigh and switch on the desk lamp. I will banish the ghosts and shadows and pale dancers to the sudden darkness that will press at my window.

Yet just for a moment I will sit here.

Hanging on.

Until I can bear to let you go.

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

 Art by Anne Magill

 

 
8 Comments

Posted by on February 21, 2015 in Still Life

 

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I will not miss you

Alter of Worship

I will not miss you

I will not miss you when winter darkens the sky and snowflakes kiss my skin. When the fire burns bright in the hearth and the candles flicker their yearning ghosts upon the wall.

I will not miss you when spring breaks the soil with green, and silently buds the shivering trees. When pale hearts are made bold by the rising sap and cupid’s sweet festival.

I will not miss you when summer spreads itself before me in wild and glorious heat. When my skin feels the sun caressing it like a lover, like an angel, like a pretty girl.

I will not miss you when autumn reminds me of solemn promise stolen by sad circumstance. When the rain trickles down my cheeks and beneath my collar and hides my stupid tears.

I will not miss you

I will not miss you

I will not miss you

.

,

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Art by Jack Vettriano

 
32 Comments

Posted by on November 28, 2014 in Poetry, Still Life

 

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Cutting room floor

An Imperfect Past II

If only life were a movie.

For their final scene I would choose a soft, balmy night at the very end of that summer with the stars bright and new against an inky black sky.

I would track them as they walked, hand in hand, to a favourite restaurant, bubbling with conversation, hungry for each other, and for food.

I would illustrate them through a dozen loving sequences, oblivious to all around them, cuddled up close, lost in each others eyes, sipping wine.

I would capture a kiss, an impulsive hug on the pavement, illuminated by a fat, silver moon.

I would fade into the credits as they dissolved into each other, heading for home, and the glory of each other’s bodies.

I would call it ‘Endless’ and put their photograph on the front – one they took together in the mirror when their lives were full of laughter.

I would give it to them as a gift to cherish forever. .

Before doing so I would quietly take the last sad, bitter, lonely, tearful, heartbreaking six months of their affair and leave them forever forgotten on the cutting room floor.

If only life were a movie

.

.

@ the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Art by Jack Vettriano

This was originally an idea in my Shadows & Dancers (now private) blog.  I stumbled across it the other day while looking for something else and reworked it.

 

 
13 Comments

Posted by on October 10, 2014 in Lovers Past

 

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